


Brooklyn

by wkemeup



Series: Brooklyn & Moscow [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Cuddling, Dubious Consent, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Safeword Use, Sex, Smut, Spanking, bucky adheres to the safeword instantly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: After returning home from a mission desperate to rid yourself of the control that nearly got Sam killed, you seek out Bucky — the only man who can give you what you need. Until it goes too far.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Brooklyn & Moscow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 108





	Brooklyn

A tense ache burned in your muscles the entire flight back to the compound. Hands clenching at the edge of your seat as you tried to keep your focus on the small neon blip of the radar, on the altitude monitor, the radio, anything that could steal your attention from the racing thoughts in your head.

It didn’t matter that the mission was technically a success or that you retrieved the intel Fury had assigned for your team to abstract. It didn’t matter that you took out an entire Hydra base, burned it to the ground, and got out with nearly every member of your team unharmed.

Not when Sam was lying in the cradle fighting for his life, a gaping wound in his right side from where three bullets had pierced straight through him. His suit was drenched in blood. The walkway up to the center of the jet carpeted in the same dark, red pools. It was a miracle you were able to get him on board at all before he bled out completely. The cradle would only keep him stable until you got back to base.

It was the last thread tethering him to this world and it was entirely your fault.

You were the one making the calls, insisting you take the lead, to which Sam had recklessly agreed; some naïve form of friendship that led him to follow you blindly without stopping to consider your track record of mistakes.

Your back was turned when it happened, focused on the downloading the intel from the computers while Sam kept guard. A Hydra agent you swore you had already taken out upon entry emerged from behind the door and suddenly Sam was on the ground, clutching at his side, blood seeping over his fingers, before you could even fire a shot at the gunman.

It was your next mistake.

You missed.

The bullet had hit the wall next to him and he had you tied to the wall within seconds, hands bound painfully behind your back as Sam bled out, withering weakly as a pool of deep red expanded beneath him. Your coms had been ripped from your ears, unable to contact any of the other agents under your watch. The man had caressed the side of your face, whispering words in your ear that made you sick to your stomach, and you screamed yourself hoarse. 

It only took your team eight minutes to track you down but it felt like a lifetime as Sam’s movements began to still and the Hydra agent laughed at your distress. Three of your men barreled into the room, executing the agent without a sliver of hesitation before they rushed to you.

You screamed at them to get Sam to the cradle first and to forget about you. They lifted Sam’s body from the mess of blood and swore two more of your agents were on their way to you. You had waited another four minutes bound to the wall, staring at the red staining through the cracks in the tile, unable to look over at the dead body of the man responsible, before you were released and brought back to the jet.

One of the Shield agents on your detail, a rookie who’s name you hadn’t even had a chance to learn before he was foolishly assigned under your leadership, was attempting to wipe the blood from your skin – Sam’s blood.

You sat perfectly still, allowing him to run the damp cloth over your skin until the red stains disappeared, rubbing carefully and gaging for your reaction nervously as he rang out the colored water into the bucket. Only once he had wiped the last remnant of your friend’s blood from your skin, did he finally sit back into his own seat.

When the jet finally landed back at base, chaos erupted.

The seven agents who had been tasked to your team whisked into motion, the rapid unfastening of the seatbelts barely breaking through your fog as heavy footsteps rushed into the jet towards Sam. Wheels clicked against the raised tile edges of the floor as they carted him away, frantic shouting echoing through the jet until there was only silence.

You sat alone, holding onto the sound of your own thumping heart pounding in your ears, and trying not to think of the mistakes you made that led to this moment. Shaking hands reached for the buckle of your seatbelt, pressing down on the bright red button until you were released.

The confinement had been comforting, the restriction almost a reprieve from the voices in your head reminding you that it was your choices and your orders that put Sam in this position.

You couldn’t be in charge anymore.

You couldn’t be trusted. 

Standing on uneasy legs, you found yourself walking down the tail of the jet, eyes desperate to avoid the trail of blood in your path. No one noticed you exit the landing bay, not in the commotion over rushing Sam to the med wing. You barely even registered where you were going until you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door.

He could make this feeling go away. You were certain he could.

You pushed open the door to find him sitting on the windowsill, leaning against the frame and reading the book you bought for him the week before. The squeak of the door alerted him to your presence and blue eyes glanced up over the top of the binding in your direction.

“Y/n?” he asked, surprised, as he set the book down on the floor cautiously. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until–”

You crossed the room in the span of a few steps, unable to stand being apart from him for even an instant longer and crashed your lips to his hungrily, forcefully, like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. He remained frozen as your hands tangled in his hair, taken back for a moment before he gently pulled himself away from your touch.

“Hold on, doll,” Bucky chuckled sweetly and his hands caressed over your arms. “Give me a minute to look at ya.”

You panted, staring at him as he looked you over, clearly checking for an injury he wouldn’t find. Fate wasn’t kind enough for that. If she had even an ounce of mercy it would be you in the cradle, you being rushed to surgery, you fighting for your life. Not Sam.

The silence was too painful, the voices too loud, the tension building in your chest too agonizing to let stand, and you pushed yourself up against him again. Lips desperately kissing at his, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, needy for him to take away the feeling leaving you cold and empty.

Your lips moved to his jawline and then to his neck; quick, rough, and unlike how you usually kissed him. Your hands snaked up under his shirt, running over his stomach muscles, up his spine, and dug scratches into his skin enough to draw out a hiss.

Eagerly, your hands moved to his belt, unfastening it before Bucky had a chance to protest. The tips of your fingers only got to the edge of his jeans before he grabbed at your hands.

“Sweetheart, wait a second,” Bucky urged, bringing your hands to his lips and kissing the broken knuckles. He knew something was wrong. He could read you better than anyone and you should have known better than to come to him because of it, but he was the only one who could ease your pain, who could take this awful feeling away. He released your hands and reached to cup the sides of your face, drawing in your attention. “Is everything alright?”

He was looking at you too kindly. It was more than you deserved and it was starting to make your stomach weak. You couldn’t have that.

“Moscow,” you choked out suddenly. “I need it like Moscow.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and his hands fell from the sides of your face. The apprehension in his features didn’t go unnoticed as he ran his hand over his lips.

He remembered Moscow well. It was after a mission when Hydra had found a way to trigger him into the winter soldier and he nearly killed Steve in the process before Tony was able to knock him out. Bucky had craved a sense of control after that night; needed to feel like he had ownership over his own body, over something else, too. You’d given yourself to him willingly, eagerly, to help ease that pain he felt.

The hotel room was destroyed by morning. Divots in the bed posts, broken lamps shattered on the floor, clothes tossed around the room hastily, bruising littering your body. It was rough and rushed and angry and everything he wasn’t but he needed to be that night. It gave him a reprieve from the voices in his head reminding him that he was nothing, that he was a machine, that he was less than human.

Even despite the complicated nature of your relationship, the seeking each other out in the dead of the night, sneaking behind closed doors, longing for one another without ever admitting it aloud, you gave him back the ability to make his own choices, to use his body – and yours – how he wanted and you were more than willing to do so.

You needed him to do it again.

“Moscow?” Bucky repeated carefully, the memory of dark purple bruising on your skin in the shape of his fingers flashing through his mind. “You’re sure? We don’t usually–”

“Please, Bucky,” you pled, hand snaking up the side of his flesh arm enough to draw out a shiver until you rested it against the back of his neck, urging him closer. “I need you to do this for me. I can’t be in control right now. I’m begging you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, wanting to know more, but you pulled his lips down to yours before he could have a chance to ask questions that would surely get you spiraling. You couldn’t think about that right now. You just needed Bucky. You needed him to take it away.

So, you sucked and bit and kissed at his lips to numb yourself from the thoughts in your head.

You gripped at the edges of his shirt, yanking it over his head and his lips left yours for only a moment to rid himself of the fabric but it felt like ages too long. Hands trailed over his skin, brushing against his nipples, and touching the rough scars on his shoulder, over the cold metal of his arm. Your lips moved to his neck, sucking harshly at the dip above his shoulder that made his legs weak.

“Safe word,” he panted, requesting one from you as he did in Moscow, his hands reaching for the zipper to your suit. You ignored him, too busy letting your mind get lost in the feeling of his skin under your hands, against your lips. He pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you away. “Safe word, Y/n.”

“Don’t need one,” you mumbled, lunging forward towards him to kiss him again.

Bucky blocked you before you could get any closer, a sternness hardening his features. “I’m not doing anything until you give me a safe word, doll. You know that.”

You stared at him through narrowed eyes, though he wouldn’t relent. It was unnecessary. You wanted him to ravish you, destroy you. The last thing you’d need is for him to stop. But you knew he wouldn’t touch you again until you gave him one.

“Brooklyn,” you blurted out, the same one from Moscow, frustration fusing in your chest and your hands reached for the hem of his pants. “Okay? Brooklyn. Now, fuck me.”

Unwilling to wait even a second longer, you leaned in to kiss at his neck when you felt his hands grip harshly upon on your shoulders.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me,” Bucky growled, shoving you back several paces as his entire demeanor switched, just as you’d asked him to. It was the only time you had ever seen him look at you with anything other than the adoration he so desperately tried to mask. An exhilaration rushed through your body, replacing the numbed feeling, as he stalked towards you, staring you down through hooded eyes.

“Take your fucking clothes off.”

You nodded, hand jutting up to the zipper of your suit and yanking it down roughly. You shrugged off the tight, adhesive fabric and kicked it off your legs, leaving you in your sports bra and underwear. You waited for further instruction.

“All of them,” Bucky demanded, his voice deeper, harder than you were used to. He palmed at the hardened outline of his arousal through his jeans as you pulled your sports bra over your head and swiftly bent over to slide the panties down your legs. You stepped out of them and stood complete bare before him as he took you in greedily.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he paced around the room, hand slipping into the drawer of the dresser next to you and pulled out a long silk ribbon, dark red and glistening in the dim light of the room. You recognized it from Moscow. He had ripped it from the ends of the curtain of the hotel room.

Bucky took slow, careful steps around you, sliding the ribbon through his hands as he looked you over, studying your body. You stood still for him, anticipation rushing to your core.

He paused as he stood behind you and you could feel his breath on your neck. Hot. Heavy. Then, his fingers touched the top of your spine and he carefully drew a line down along your back, leaving shivers in his wake, until he gripped at your ass harshly, enough to make you gasp.

“This is mine,” he purred against your ear, releasing you only after you nodded. “Now get on your knees.”

You sank instantly, letting yourself fall to the carpeted floors with a heavy thud. The bristles scratched at your skin as you shifted your weight, waiting patiently for him to make the next move. It was working, being at his mercy, following his orders without thought of your own, letting him take the reins over your body and your mind. You craved it, needed it.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson in patience,” Bucky hummed. The soft clicking of his zipper as he pulled it down at an agonizing pace made your hands start to shake.

He was giving you too much time to think, too much time for the voices to take over. You needed to touch him. To kiss him. To pull him into your mouth. Something – anything – besides this silence allowing your thoughts to run wild.

“Don’t even think about moving until I tell you to.”

Then, in sweet reprieve Bucky unbuttoned the clasp and pulled back the flap of his jeans. He reached into his briefs and released his cock, standing hard out against him, precum dripping from the tip. He guided it towards you, letting the head brush against your cheek, trailing over your skin until it pressed at your parted lips. You knew better than to take him in before he requested but having him so close, so aching and ready, took all of your energy to obey his orders. 

He stared down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your hands by your side. Your breathing picked up in pace, panting hot against his cock, waiting for further instructions. The voices were coming back, thoughts reminding you of your failure, of your mistakes, and unable to subside them on your own, you let your tongue brush between your parted lips until it touched the tip of his cock.

Bucky flinched back at the sensation, a growl tearing through him. “I didn’t give you fucking permission! Did I, my little whore?”

Whore.

It was what the Hydra agent called you when his hand traced along the line of your cheekbone, threatening down your neck towards your chest before your team came barreling through the door.

You blinked rapidly, unable to process Bucky’s new request as you struggled to find something to ground you. The bristles of the carpet. Nails into your thighs. But not him – no, you weren’t allowed to touch him. That was the rule.

He was watching you cautiously, a flash of concern in his eyes breaking through the character he played, as he must have noticed the way your breathing picked up in pace, how your eyes darted rapidly around the room as if trying to remind yourself where you were. He was slipping out of the version of him you needed and into the man you loved.

Unwilling to let him stop, desperate to forget, you bowed your head, hands planting to the ground in front of you as you bowed your head. 

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” you exhaled, not realizing how heavy you were breathing. “You should… You should punish me for what I’ve done.”

“Punish you?” Bucky repeated back, an echo of uncertainty.

You needed him ruthless, to be in complete control, to take away your freewill because you couldn’t be trusted with it. You needed him to punish you for more than just touching him, but you wouldn’t dare tell him that. He’d stop in an instant and you couldn’t allow that, couldn’t bare it. You were certain it would kill you.

“Hurt me,” you requested desperately, eyes slowly trailing up his body until you met startled shades of blue. “Hit me. Choke me. Something.”

Bucky paused, licking over his lips as he knelt down next to you carefully. Breaking character completely, he murmured, “Y/n, we never talked about that. I don’t think–”

“Moscow,” you urged, reminding him of what he agreed to.

“I didn’t do that in Moscow.”

“You left bruises.”

“Not on purpose,” he countered sternly. “It was from holding onto you too hard. I didn’t mean to. Not from…”

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“I want it,” you pleaded, reaching out towards his cock and grabbing a firm hold while he was still himself, allowing you to touch him as he normally did. He sighed, choking back a moan as you slid your hand over his shaft, brushing the tip with your thumb. “I need it, Bucky. Please. Punish me.”

Bucky bit on his lip and slowly pried your hand off of him. That was when he noticed the faint red marks on your wrists from where the Hydra agent had bound you. He raised his eyes to you, worry swarming amongst the ocean blue.

“What happened on the mission?”

He was too observant, too smart.

You shook your head. “Don’t ask me that. Not now.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked carefully, gaging for your reaction.

You swallowed back the thumping in your chest and pushed aside the voices screaming at you to just talk to him, to tell him what happened, to ask him for an absolution you craved so desperately it was consuming you whole.

He trusted you too much, trusted you enough to tell him if there was something to worry about.

You would.

But not now.

So, you nodded.

He let his features harden again and your soft, careful, exceptionally gentle Bucky was locked away. The switch flicked and he was gone.

“Then get on the fucking bed.”

You nodded eagerly, rising to your feet and scrambling onto the sheets. As he stood, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans and pulled them to the ground along with his briefs, freeing himself completely. You watched him as he kicked the jeans to the side of the room, muscles moving under taunt skin. He was such a beautiful man, sculped as if by the Gods themselves.

He approached the edge of the bed and a burning anticipation washed over you. “Turn over. Hands and knees. Now.”

You obeyed, scurrying to do as he said. As you waited for him, gripping at the sheets, tilting the small of your back to give him a better view of your ass, you could feel the voices disappearing. They couldn’t find you when you were with him, under his control. He moaned at the sight of you, and you closed your eyes, the sound alone drawing a quiver to your thighs.

His hand slipped over the curve of your ass and you gasped, a tingling over your skin as he caressed and rubbed over the curves. His left hand, cool to the touch, slid down your back and gathered a tight hold of your hair, yanking until you stared up at the headboard.

Then, without warning, his flesh hand smacked against the soft curve of your ass. You yelped at the sensation, though the sting of it wasn’t as harsh as you had thought it would be. Bucky rubbed at the skin for only a moment before he brought his hand down again, harder this time and upon the already reddened area. You bit down on your lip when the pain stung worse than the first.

“Give me your hands,” Bucky demanded as he jumped around to the side of the bed, yanking your hands from under you and swiftly tying them to the headboard, wrists pressed together between a knot strong enough only Bucky would be able to untie. You tugged at it, unable to loosen the knot, and gripped onto the headboard for support.

He took a step back, admiring his work. “Look at you, all tied up for me. So fucking gorgeous.”

You could only vaguely register as Bucky crawled back onto the bed, kneeling behind you. His hand smacked down against the tender patch on your ass and you let out a cry. Your hands tugged at the restraints and he brought his palm down against you again.

“You did something bad, didn’t you?” he taunted, running his hand soothingly over your back. It was a tease; he’d smack you again soon enough. “You fucked up and now you’re being punished for it, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, tears welling in your eyes from the sting of his hand. You knew he was playing into the role you assigned for him, that he was speaking of only a few moments ago when you had touched him without permission under the guise these characters, but you couldn’t help but let your mind wonder back to the mission.

You did something bad.

You fucked up.

You deserved to be punished.

“I wanna hear you say it,” Bucky moaned, running a hand up over your folds to find you dripping wet. You gasped at his touch as he began rubbing quick circles against you. A tear fell from your eyes, dropping down onto the sheets below.

“I fucked up,” you panted, trying to lose yourself in the feel of his hand between your thighs, but the voices in your head were stronger, the cold numbness in your chest taking over. “My fault. I deserve to be punished.”

You repeated the words for him like a chant as he dipped two fingers into you to work you over, but you couldn’t feel him anymore. Not the curve of his knuckles against your walls. Not the brush of his thumb over your clit. Not his hand resting against your thigh.

The tug of your wrists on the ribbon burned, enough to make you question if you were with Bucky at all or still in that Hydra base in the moments you let yourself close your eyes. 

You did something bad.

You got Sam shot.

You fucked up.

You’re the reason he’s fighting for his life.

You deserved to be punished.

Now take it.

“That’s right,” Bucky purred, lining himself up at your entrance. He trusted you too much, trusted you to tell him when you had enough. You couldn’t speak.

His hands gripped painfully at your hips, holding you in place as he pushed himself into you in one sharp trust causing you to gasp from the shock of it. You bit on your lip, trying to adjust to his size before he sunk into you again but he gave you no time. You pulled at the bindings, feeling your heart pick up in pace as Bucky moaned behind you, grinding against you, hands clenching into your hips.

You closed your eyes and flashes of dark red pooled on the ground just a few feet from you. The agents’ bloody footprints along the hallway leading to the quinjet. Sam lying in the cradle, unmoving. Red handprints over the glass, on the buttons. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“S-Stop.”

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Bucky snapped back flatly, almost antagonizing. There was only one word he would stop for. It was part of the game. The game you agreed to. The game you asked for, even when he was hesitant to do so. He gave in for you because that was what you wanted, needed. And now, you couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t–” you panted, wincing as Bucky slammed into you harshly. “I don’t remem-”

Shaking arms yanked at the red ribbon, desperate to free yourself. It was too familiar. Too soon. You were right back in that Hydra base, tied against the wall, watching Sam bleed out on the floor, and you needed Bucky – your Bucky. You needed him soft and loving and gentle and anything but this.

But you couldn’t remember the word. You’d never had to use to before. Not even in Moscow.

Bucky didn’t let up. Why would he? He couldn’t read your mind, couldn’t see your face with your back to him. The shaking easily could have been misinterpreted for pleasure. He was chasing a release, using your body the way you begged him to, demanded him to. He was only doing what you asked of him.

Why didn’t you tell him what happened? Why did you insist on using him to punish yourself? Why wouldn’t you just let him love you and care for you the way he so clearly wants to? Why couldn’t you have just come home and –

Home.

“Br-Brooklyn,” you choked out but your voice was too quiet. He couldn’t hear you. He gripped your hips tight enough to bruise and slammed into you enough to draw out a yelp.

“Brooklyn!” you cried, tears streaking down your face as you yanked at the binds hysterically. Bucky pulled out of you before you could even finish saying the word aloud, leaving you feeling empty and aching and relieved.

He rushed to the side of the bed to release your hands as you chanted the safe word over and over again like a prayer. Your legs collapsed under you and Bucky’s warm touch ghosted over your wrists. They were shaking.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky cursed as he frantically worked at the ribbon. You could feel him glancing down at you under worried eyes as he dug his finger under the knot until it started to loosen. “I’m so sorry, baby. I almost got it. Hold on for me.”

A cool air rushed over the reddened skin of your wrists as the ribbon fell away. Bucky quickly crawled into the bed next to you and gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he whispered soothing words into your ear you couldn’t quite make out. All you could manage to do was sob against him, tugging his arms tighter around you when he felt too far away, even with your body pressed against his.

“I’m right here, doll,” Bucky cooed, brushing a hand through your hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe. We don’t gotta do anything else, okay? I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head against his chest. It wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t apologize. He shouldn’t be sorry. He was nothing but kind and gentle and good and nothing that you felt you deserved, especially in that moment because you had used him in a way he never would have agreed to. But you couldn’t form the words to tell him. Instead, a confession fell from your lips.

“Sam might die because of me.”

Bucky paused, his hand stilling in your hair, as he adjusted himself so he could face you. “What are you talking about?”

“The mission,” you sniffled, everting his gaze, too ashamed to meet his eye, “A Hydra agent I was supposed to take out tracked us down while we were extracting the intel. He shot Sam three times before I even knew he was there.”

“Doll, I… you know it’s not your f–”

“He got the drop on me,” you continued, a lump in the back of your throat making it impossible to focus on Bucky’s words. “He tied me up and I watched Sam bleed out for almost ten minutes before the team found us.”

Bucky’s hands brushed gently over your wrists, such soft, tender touches against the raw skin. He brought them up to his lips and pressed careful kisses against the red marks. The cool of his metal hand against your skin made you sign in relief.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, guilt racking up in your chest. “I just… I couldn’t think straight… couldn’t be in control anymore because that’s what nearly got Sam killed. I wanted it, Bucky. I swear I did. But I guess somewhere along the way I started wanting you to punish me for what happened on the mission and I made it about something you didn’t agree to. I’m sorry.”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, his fingers resuming the tracing through your hair and down over your spine. You wondered if he was angry, if he’d get up and walk away from you for what you did, if it would be the last time he’d let you near him in this way again.

But Bucky Barnes was a more understanding man than most and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“I am always going to want to do whatever you ask of me,” Bucky sighed, “but I won’t do that again; be rough with you like that. Not for a long time. I’m thankful you used the safe word when you needed to but… I should have trusted my instincts on this. I knew something wasn’t right but I gave in anyway. I don’t know if it was just me wanting to make you happy or if I was just feeding into my own need for control and for that, I’m sorry, too.”

A silence took over for a moment and you found yourself focusing on the soft thumping of Bucky’s heartbeat in his chest, pressed against your ear. Steady. Firm. It pulled you back to the ground.

“I made a mess of us,” you swallowed, tilting up to face Bucky, “didn’t I?”

“We’ve always been complicated, doll. I don’t mind a little mess as long as it’s with you,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, brushing the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. Though, there was a flash of hurt woven into the grey in his eyes. “But I need you to tell me next time something like this happens. I can’t be the instrument you use to punish yourself. I won’t.”

You nodded, curling yourself up closer against his chest. For a while, you let yourself get lost in the sensation of his fingers trancing patterns along your back, his soft humming, and the feel of him against you. Once only your breathing came in through even waves and your heart had settled, you let out a heavy exhale and allowed yourself to ask the question you had been working yourself up to.

“Fury’s gonna want my debriefing soon,” you started timidly, thankful that Bucky’s gentle drawing on your back didn’t let up, “and I… I want to check on Sam, make sure he’d okay. Will you… will you come with me?”

You’d never been together out in the light before. There had been movie nights with the team and early morning coffee in the kitchen and sitting on the roof at night sharing a bourbon and watching the stars, but that wasn’t what you were asking.

You needed him beside you, holding your hand, anything to help you get through this. He was the only person you wanted to stand by you, you realized. He was everything.

Bucky paused, considering your question, before he suddenly moved himself out from under you without another word. A jolt of panic brushed through you until he leaned down and kissed your forehead, a smile curving against your skin.

“Of course, doll,” he said sweetly. He offered you his hand and helped you out of the bed. He handed you a standard Shield crewneck, one that wouldn’t raise suspicions, though when you pressed the fabric to your nose it smelled like him, and a pair of your leggings he had kept from your last night in his room, figuring you’d be back for them anyway. 

You quickly changed as Bucky stepped back into his sweatpants and pulled on a fresh t-shirt. Fully clothed, you stared at him for a minute too long and he raised an eyebrow.

There were a million different things you could have told him in that moment.

You could have thanked him for his undying selflessness, for the gentle movement of his hands upon your skin when you needed it most, for so willingly dropping everything when you asked.

You could have told him that he was the best man you knew, that he was everything you wished you were, and that you were better for knowing him.

You could have admitted that you’d loved him for years and he was the center of your world in every form of the word and imagining a life without him in it wasn’t a life at all.

You could have said a lot of things. But there was time for that later.

Instead, you pressed out a smile and extended your hand to his. A flash of surprise over his eyes, never having shared such an intimate gesture outside of closed doors, and he slipped his hand into yours. Fingers intertwining, a gentle squeeze, and they fit perfectly together.

Strength renewed just from his presence beside you, the cautious reminder from the pressure in your hand that he wasn’t going anywhere, and you pushed open the door.

Together.


End file.
